The police report paints an ugly picture. To read it is to put yourself there, in suburban Minneapolis, at 12:35 a.m. on June 29, 2011, by which point Brett Rogers has already done the things that will cost him his job, his self-respect, and, at least for a little while, his freedom.

You read it and you see Rogers – all 6-foot-4, 260 pounds of him – drunk and slurring his words as he talks to police officers in his driveway. You keep reading, and you see Tiuana, his wife of seven years, dazed and disoriented as she stumbles down the street in the dark, only to be picked up by officers who will later describe the "golfball-sized" bump above her left eye, the blood smeared on her face, the missing tooth. You see the couple's children, who will later tell a neighbor that they're scared to go home...